


Desert Flowers

by afterandalasia



Category: Aladdin (1992)
Genre: Agrabah, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Camaraderie, Canon Era, Community: disney_kink, F/M, Freedom, Prostitute Jasmine, Running Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-23
Updated: 2011-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-21 16:19:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1556588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If she would be sold to a man, she had long since decided, she would at least be the one to benefit from it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desert Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> From the anonymous [prompt](http://disney-kink.livejournal.com/361.html?thread=2137449#t2137449) at the Disney Kink meme. Anon, I hope I didn't take it in too unexpected a direction.

Some of the men were shy, and uncertain, and fumbled with their pants as they removed them. They mumbled about wives that lay still and cold and unwilling to be touched beneath them, and loved it best when she told them how _good_ they were, and finished quickly anyway so it really never seemed to be too hard a work. And it was not hard, either, to bid them a sweet goodbye and touch their cheek with a smile, and some of them came back so often that she came to know their name and all about them, and they would smile when they heard that she was free for them. In all truth, she rather pitied them, when she counted the money after they were gone and thought about what she had spent with all that they had given her.  
  
Of course, some of them were all bravado, and liked to posture and show off, and wanted her to gasp and look amazed at their naked bodies. Few were anything special; many had sagging stomachs and flabby arms, and it was an effort to twist her features into a look of awed wonder at their imaginary physical status. As for asking a whore to find any man's penis impressive, well, that was pure foolery. Most of them wanted her to take them in her mouth, of course, with mms and ahs of anticipation, and they would grunt and thrust like animals and by the time they got round to penetrating her had barely anything left in them anyway. And they did not pay so well, but were more fun to ape and mock in the evenings with the other women, to peals of laughter and waggling of imaginary cocks and flexing of imaginary muscles.  
  
Some were perfunctionary, almost distasteful of the whole situation, and as much as she tried she could not hide her boredom with them as she lay and let them thrust away, their minds clearly elsewhere, both of their bodies seemingly cold and barely touching. They didn't tend to return to her, though they were regulars at the brothel, as they didn't like her temperament. The madame was angry at her for that for a while, but she had snapped that it was not her fault, and there were plenty of men who had their preferences. And besides, her beauty attracted men enough anyway.  
  
Oh, her beauty. There were men who came just for that. Men who paid her to spurn them and turn away their advances, sometimes for weeks at a time! Men who paid for the pursuit and not the catching, who seemed to lose interest once the game was up and she gave herself to them. They were always, at the least, entertaining ones.

Some, of course, she liked less. For every man who wanted to be told to lick her feet and to cower on the floor before her, there was another who wanted _her_ to grovel, and would accept no other because no other had her beauty. And it would be with mutiny in her heart that she knelt before them, or was pinned down, or was struck and spanked so hard that the madame would have to bath her skin in oils and rub it with gentle creams to prevent bruises from forming on her soft flesh. Only one had she ever truly feared, though, and he had been flung from the brothel by the heavy men that guarded it, his eyes wild and red and threats of murder on his tongue. And the other women had flocked around her and cooed and supported her, and eventually she had overcome the fear and continued.  
  
After all, this way she at least had some control over the selling of her body. Her choice, her rules; and she hid money beneath her mattress and perhaps, some day, would be able to escape this place as well. But for now it would do, and at least it was not a cage like the life in which she had once lived. And there was one man that would never find her here, and for all of his years of lusting would never claim her body.  
  
Sometimes one customer or another would declare in awe and wonder what a resemblence there was to the princess who had so long ago now simply disappeared -- believed assassinated, perhaps, or kidnapped by the jealous prince of some other kingdom -- and she would laugh and coyly ask how they could think to make such a high comparison. Because, after all, no one would believe that a princess once called Jasmine would lower herself to becoming a whore in a brothel, even one of the most favoured in the city, staining her eyes with kohl and her lips with rouge and wrapping herself in fine silk and offering her body like the finest dish to anyone who might have enough money to claim her. And in the masque of a Desert Star-Vine she hid, and was her own, and thrilled in it.


End file.
